Iím not sure what I want to write today.
I just know I want to.
That thereís a need to it, a necessity.
It feels like coming home.
Part of me that feels it needs to be structured or organized.
Something my life has never been.
Everything good that has came from me has been random bits of chaos.
Most of it, lost to the void.
Scattered thoughts on a sea of ambiguous pages spread throughout time and space.
Being honest, Iím not sure what will come of any of it.
Iíve died a thousand dreams and all Iíve got to show for it is who I am.
The words, they wrote me.
For so long, I thought I was doing something.
Now, I see how my life was written.